James Franco and I walk into an empty artisanal bakery in Philadelphia.
We’re both hankering for something with nine grains.
Who’s more awesome?
Hint: James Franco is NOT more awesome.
Oprah and I walk out to get my mail.
We’re both wearing cabled cardigans.
Hint: Oprah is not better.
In the past two months, I’ve been told that I’m like Oprah but better AND that I’m more awesome than James Franco. I think it’s time for me to start crosssssssstitching (too many esses and I don’t have time for it) a compliment sampler to hang above my work station that will serve as an Atta Girl when I’m feeling like a knucklehead. (Disclaimer: Please know that I know that one doesn’t have to be better (or more awesome) than someone else in order to achieve fulfillment! I can achieve fulfillment in my car with nothing but a burrito and my own mind! You can, too! Mindful Burrito Wednesday! Go do it!)
As I type these words to you today, I have the components for lasagna simmering on my stovetop, I have a sushi lunch scheduled with a friend, and I’m once again playing with a lazy journal. (Lazily.)